


Some Lucky Decepticon

by Miratete



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Dubious Consent, Imprisonment, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mech Preg, Mpreg, Spark Sexual Interfacing, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Wrongful Imprisonment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-30 19:00:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13957962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miratete/pseuds/Miratete
Summary: -o-o-o-o-o-Gears refuses to take a mate even though his time has come and several carriers have presented themselves. And now he's managed to offend most of the Autobots. So when he changes his mind, a vengeful Prowl steps in with a solution that will keep most everyone's pride and honor intact... Gears and two kidnapped Decepticons exempted.-o-o-o-o-o-





	1. Surging

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains a lot of difficult moral ground—read at your own risk. One one hand, you can say it's non-con because the victims never gave express consent and are under the influence of forces beyond their control. But on the other hand, you can say that this is the way things are supposed to happen because it's their programming making them consent. But then, it's not natural that the characters been "trapped in a cave" together. Though maybe it needs to be this way to get the two factions to see eye to eye and connect as Cybertronians, which should put them above their factional polarity. Again, it's a whole lot of difficult moral ground. I'm sticking by the label of “dubious-consent.”
> 
> Mostly though, I wrote this story because Gears needs more love and I wanted him to come out on top in the end. And there are some pretty funny moments as well as some very touching moments. I actually shed a few tears when writing the final chapter. The “Outpost 17” paragraph still makes me laugh.

-o-o-o-o-o-

“It's surging, isn't it?” moaned Gears.

Ratchet looked up from the console, the results of the spark scan displayed upon it.. “Yep.”

“Great...” Gears moaned again.

“It's nothing to be worried about or ashamed of. We're just not used to seeing it happen these days. And besides, it will eventually cycle through and you'll be back to normal soon enough.”

“At least I have that to look forward to. Now if only that creak in my hip would cycle through. Or that stickiness in the third servo of my lower right arm. It's never worked right since First Aid repaired it after that battle in Southeast Asia. Hoist says it's just fine but it's obviously not because it continues to stick.”

Ratchet laughed. “Do you know how many mechs here would be all too happy to be surging right now? It's a shame that you don't have a sparkmate or even a lover to share it with.”

“Who says I don't have a lover,” snapped Gears defensively.

Ratchet just shot him a look that explained it all.

Gears sighed. “You're right. I don't.”

Ratchet smirked, not caring whether Gears saw his amusement or not. “Plenty of options out there for you right now though. We've got three times as many carriers with us than sires. But, if you're so against it, there's nothing wrong with celibacy.”

“Of course there isn't!”

“Of course not. So anyway, just let it take it's course. Just don't be surprised if you get a few offers from some of the carriers around here. It's been a long time since we've had a sire surging. You might just change your mind.”

“What makes you think that I'd even want to kindle a newspark,” huffed the minibot angrily.

“Because you're surging. It's normal to want to procreate at this point. Maybe you're not feeling that way yet, but just wait two or three weeks from now when the cycle peaks, and I guarantee you'll barely think twice about taking up someone's offer.”

“I'll think once and unhesitatingly say 'no',” he grouched.

“Of course you will. Though you do have an unusually strong spark for a minibot. A shame to let that go to waste with so many carriers among us here on Earth. You know the last time Trailbreaker was surging we ended up with four new Autobots.”

“May I go or are you going to keep giving me a hard time?”

Ratchet pulled back the scanner arm. “You can leave, and unless there's a problem you won't have to see me again.”

“Good. I hate coming down here to the medbay,” he said as he hopped off of the examining table. “It smells funny in here. And the closest elevator is the one that makes that weird lurch that upsets my gyros.”

Ratchet held his tongue, although he really wanted to say how much he hated Gears coming down to the medbay as well. At least this time the cantankerous mech's visit was blessedly short, but he did have one more thing to say as the minibot headed for the door. “Though if you do change your mind and do spark someone, I want to see you both back here within forty cycles of it happening.”

“And when that happens I'll bring Primus and Unicron and Santa Claus in here with us,” came the snarled response from the hallway.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Gears' surge cycle was the subject of much discussion, especially when the surges grew so intense that he had difficulty containing his EM field. Most of the time he just let it spread as it wished, containing it only when around the others. But it was difficult and it often slipped out of control, especially after he hit the one-week mark and he could barely restrain its eager reach. It wasn't long before everyone knew what was up with the little curmudgeon. And he knew he was in for some misery when one day Sunstreaker and Sideswipe approached the minibots' table in the rec room and sat down across from him. “So, Gears. Who've you chosen?” asked the red twin.

“What do you mean, 'who've I chosen?' I've not chosen anyone.”

“C'mon. You've got one heck of a spark. We're all feeling it. We know what's up.”

“So what. It's just going to pass, and nothing's going to change.”

“Not going to spark anyone? Such a shame,” sighed Sunstreaker melodramatically.

“He's not going to spark anyone because no one wants to breed with him,” laughed Huffer, sitting a few seats down.

Gears glared at the fellow minibot. “It's because I don't want to breed with any of you,” he retorted.

“Hmmm... mutual disgust,” sighed Sideswipe.

“Look!” snapped Gears. “Just because I'm surging it doesn't mean I have to or should or even want to go through the motions of kindling any sparklings.”

“Yeah, well, your choice.”

“It's because he can't find a sparkmate,” laughed Huffer again.

“Shut your spout! I could find a sparkmate if I wanted to,” Gears denied. “I'm sure there are plenty of mechs here who would be all too happy to bond with me if I were interested in it.

Sunstreaker coughed. “Yeah. I'm sure of that.”

“Just leave me alone. You're all just teasing me because... well because...”

“Yes?” Sideswipe prompted. “Because why?”

Gears just growled and stomped out of the rec-room, taking his half-empty cube of energon with him.

“You two shouldn't be so hard on him,” said Tracks, who'd been eavesdropping from the next table over. “We all know that no one here is... well... all that fond of him.”

“He brings it upon himself,” countered Sunstreaker.

“Well yes,” agreed Prowl, sitting at the same table. “But he's a good Autobot and loyal to the faction. Sure he whines almost constantly these days, but he gets his work done, volunteers for missions, and even faces the Decepticons fearlessly in battle.”

“At least he's got that going for him,” said Jazz with a smirk. “And he's surging—the first of us since coming to Earth. You know we're able to overlook a lot of faults in the quest for a newspark.”

“And I'm sure he'll change his mind after a while when the cycle peaks. I'm sure then he'll swallow his pride and choose a mate,” added Prowl.

“I hope so,” sighed Jazz wistfully, leaning forward and propping his head up in one hand.

Prowl twitched, doorwings tensing. “Don't tell me you're going to try courting him as well.”

Jazz flashed his mate a wicked grin that revealed nothing.

-o-o-o-o-o-

As Ratchet had predicted, several carriers did present themselves and hoped to curry his favor—helping him with his work or sending the minibot small gifts. Some sent him breeding resumes or blatant invitations to their berths. But Gears rebuffed them all, angrily denying any interest in kindling any sparks.

Cliffjumper blew it off easily. Skids sighed in quiet defeat, figuring he'd not stood much of a chance anyway. Brawn was disappointed. Streetwise was particularly disappointed. Tracks was simply astounded that he'd actually been turned down. Hoist locked himself in his office in the medbay and refused to see anyone, until Ratchet coaxed him out with a cube of high-grade and promises that there would be other opportunities.

Bluestreak, the next to try, was in for a particularly unpleasant turn-down.

-o-o-o-o-o-

“Some Lucky Decepticon” continues in Chapter 2: “A Bridge Too Far”

-o-o-o-o-o-


	2. A Bridge Too Far

-o-o-o-o-o-

The gunner took a deep breath to clear his thoughts before opening the door to the workshop. He'd talked to Prowl and Jazz for most of the previous evening, half of it spent in the washracks as the other two showered and polished and psyched him up. They'd been understanding of the situation and encouraging of the option. While Gears was neither Praxian, nor that great of a choice for a mate, at least he could sire a sparkling.

Bluestreak pushed the door open and walked up on light footsteps, his wings held humbly, a soft smile upon his faceplate, his plating polished to a lustrous shine.

Gears turned to look, and on seeing Bluestreak's approach, he turned right back to his work. It was so obvious. Bluestreak had put on quite a display for him that morning, but now it was just embarrassing.

“Gears? Do you have a moment?” Bluestreak asked sweetly.

The minibot didn't even look up from his workbench. “What? You need your rifle calibrated again?”

“No, it's fine. You did such a good job the last time. It's about... Well, I was... You're surging and I was...” The young mech fumbled his words in his nervousness, a rare thing for him.

“It's all about me surging, isn't it? It's all anyone seems to care about these days.”

“It is... well no. It's not like that. Well I did want to ask you something about your state.”

Gears set down his tools and threw his hands in the air as if talking to Primus. “See? It is all about this surging nonsense.”

Bluestreak sighed. “Yes. I...” He put his smile back on and tried to look innocent and desirable at the same time. “I was hoping that you might kindle me. I'm a carrier.”

Gears picked up his tools again. “No, really?” he said sarcastically.

Bluestreak fought back the urge to abandon what was probably a quickly sinking ship and carried on. “Gears, I've been wanting to carry for so long. I've been waiting for Prowl or Smokescreen to surge since well before we left Cybertron, but they never have. And no one else has in so long. Please?”

“No.”

“You know we need more sparks. You know we need to have some sparklings about.”

“What? So we can build more warriors? So we can send our children out into battle?”

“No! So I can know the joy of being a parent, the joy of bringing a new Cybertronian into our lives.”

“No.”

“Gears, I won't ask you to do more than kindle the newspark,” he pleaded, desperation beginning to creep into the edge of his voice. “Prowl and Jazz want to raise the child with me. You don't have to be a father... just the sire.”

The minibot let out a huge, angry sigh, and then turned to look Bluestreak in the optics. “What's the Praxian word for 'no'? It seems to have slipped my mind. And perhaps yours too.”

Bluestreak straightened.

“Just leave me alone about this. I'm not going to spark you. I'm not going to spark anyone. So quit asking. Just because I'm surging it doesn't mean I'm here to service all the lonely little sluts aboard the Ark!” he snarled.

Bluestreak let out a whimper and ran from the workroom, tears beginning to spill from his optics.

-o-o-o-o-o-

It wasn't long before the news of Gears' particularly harsh refusal of Bluestreak made it through the ranks, and unbeknownst to the minibot, a clandestine pact circulated through the Ark's intranet, carriers and non-carriers alike signing their names to a boycott of Gears' reproductive capabilities. Even if Gears changed his mind regarding kindling, it was too late now.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Gears was pleased.

After telling Bluestreak off, no one bothered him or even mentioned his state. He relaxed a little and didn't worry about his field any longer, which was good because now it was impossible to hold in. It felt hot as well, as if he were trapped in a cloud of warm exhaust. But things were just fine, at least until two and a half weeks after Ratchet's diagnosis when the surge cycle began to peak.

Gears lay awake in his berth at night, his spark burning so hard he felt the need to open his chest, and when he did his body only ached the more. He could feel his EM field flaring out desperately in search of another. He found himself wishing that Brawn were there, perhaps to offer a little comfort. Perhaps the strong warrior would ask again, or at least offer a bit of relief 'facing. But no. His roommate had moved out rather quickly after the incident with Bluestreak and was rooming with Ironhide.

He tried opening his spark chamber, hoping that perhaps some of its intensified charge would dissipate on being exposed to the air, but it refused to diminish. Finally he tried overloading himself, repeatedly, but no matter how many times or how frequently he brought himself to a climax, his spark remained swollen and uncomfortable and set on betraying him. Somehow he knew that the only thing that would soothe it was to give it what it wanted. And that was to break itself off into the spark chamber of a willing carrier.

He squirmed on his berth, hands clawing at the canvas covering of the padding, undone by both lust and frustration. How dare Brawn abandon him in his time of need! He thought about the others—the ones who'd kindly offered themselves to him—the ones that were offering exactly what he now wanted so desperately. Desperately. Bluestreak had wanted a piece of his spark desperately. And he'd told him in no uncertain terms to get lost.

Perhaps if he were to humble himself, Bluestreak would welcome him and allow things to progress as the gunner had originally hoped. Whatever had he been thinking to turn down Bluestreak in the first place? Though young, the mech certainly wasn't naive or inexperienced. Probably quite the opposite in fact. And he had that immeasurable grace that the Praxians flaunted so lightly.

A Praxian. A handsome Praxian at that. Whatever had he been thinking to turn down a handsome Praxian? There were so few of them left. Rare and beautiful and oh-so-desirable Praxians. The fact that one of them was wanting him, a particularly plain and uninteresting minibot, that was...

Gears suddenly groaned, and not from the dull agony within his chest.

He hated to admit it. Ratchet had been right.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Gears met with failure at every turn.

Humbling himself didn't work.

Sending gifts to those who had propositioned him before got nothing but a curt thank you.

Apologies were begrudgingly accepted but the mechs quickly excused themselves whenever he tried to take the conversation further.

Courting other carriers didn't work.

Gears sighed and felt awful. This time his cantankerous personality had really gotten him into trouble.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Smokescreen looked about the room as he entered, meeting the gazes of Jazz, Ratchet, Brawn, the twins, Bluestreak, Mirage, Bumblebee, and Prowl. “What's up?” he asked.

“Just a little tactical operation,” explained Jazz.

“Operation Wedded Bliss,” said Bumblebee with a laugh.

Smokescreen cocked his head to one side. “Oh? This sounds interesting. What? Trying to get Spike to propose to Carly?”

“Even better. We're going to get Gears a bondmate. Well, at least someone he can spark up,” leered Sunstreaker.

Smokescreen immediately took a seat, whipped out a datapad, and pulled up his favorite betting pool application. “All right, so whom are we trying to hook him up with? I thought we all signed that pact though.”

Prowl laughed. “We're not going to hook him up with anyone here. No one here wants him after what he said to Bluestreak, and he said he didn't want any of us, and we respect that.”

“But it's not fair to our race to deny a surging mech the right to kindle sparklings, and he wants to now,” said Ratchet. “And we all know he's apologized and tried to make up with those he turned down.”

Smokescreen gave Prowl a look. “Oh? So then... ?” he gestured for more information.

“We're doing this Polyhexian-style,” Jazz volunteered.

“Polyhexian-style? Inform me.”

“Well, there was this custom in Polyhex back in the day. If your spark was surging and you didn't have someone to share it with, your sire or carrier or whomever cared enough about you would go out and find you a mate or two. They'd usually go out and bring home one of their carrier friends, or search the information hub for someone looking for stud-service. But after the war began and things got tough, well...”

“Well what”

“Kidnapping carriers became commonplace. A surging mech and his buddies would find a carrier the mech liked well enough and drag him or her home to be a bride. He'd kick and scream for a few days, but you know what happens.”

“We're going to capture someone and force him to mate with Gears!?” Smokescreen gasped in shock. They would actually resort to such extreme measures?

“No no. Not going to force someone. We're not making anyone do anything like that.”

Sunstreaker spoke up. “We're simply going to give some lucky Decepticon the chance of carrying for an Autobot.”

Smokescreen's look of shock transmogrified into an evil smirk. “I think I like the way you think.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

“Some Lucky Decepticon” continues in Chapter 3: “A Wicked Solution”

-o-o-o-o-o-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gears – In the G1 episode “Changing Gears,” the previously rather generic, rather unattractive minibot was introduced to us as an annoying complainer without anything positive to say. In fact at the end of the episode, most of the Autobots are in favor of not restoring his old personality to him. That made him the best candidate for this story—the guy no one loves, but he likes it that way, at least until he finds himself desperate for a mate, which he will in the next chapter.
> 
> Sires vs. Carriers – I went with a bit of a twist here. In most TF fics where there's a population imbalance between carriers and sires, the carriers are usually the ones in short supply. In this story, I've gone with the sires being in short supply, and their ability to procreate doesn't come often. When their spark does start surging, that milkshake brings all the boys to the yard. While breeding between sparkmates is considered ideal, it's not necessary, particularly in difficult times or circumstances.
> 
> Primus, Unicron, and Santa Claus – Merry Christmas! Enjoy the coming sticky.
> 
> Praxian – Yeah, jumping on the bandwagon here about Praxians being somewhat superior to other races of Cybertronian.
> 
> Polyhexian – Jazz comes from a crafty, somewhat subversive in its practicality, society. Of course this practice is still in place in a few cultures on Earth (though for some it's become more of a nod to the past rather than the actual kidnapping of some poor girl).


	3. A Wicked Solution

-o-o-o-o-o-

Swindle was puzzled. “You want what?”

Smokescreen shifted his weight to lean on one arm against the console. “Just that. A list of all the Decepticon carriers on Earth.”

“And you're willing to trade a double cube of Cybertonium for it?” It was a strange request, but what was being offered was immeasurably valuable.

“Yep.”

“Sounds fair. Though, there's one more thing I want.”

“What's that?”

“The why. You know that I'm not about to let my extra-curricular activities go against Decepticon rules or activity or operations. And carriers? This can't be good.”

Smokescreen laughed. “I suspected you'd ask that.”

“Of course I would.”

“So all right. Here's the why.”

And Smokescreen unabashedly and with complete truthfulness and in full detail told Swindle exactly why they wanted to know who the Decepticon carriers were. And at the end of it, Swindle was laughing so hard he could barely hold himself up in front of the monitor. “Okay, okay. You've got yourself a deal,” he said when he was able to compose himself. “I'll trade the list for a double cube of Cybertonium and one more thing.”

“If you keep changing the deal, I'm going to cancel. And I know how badly you need that Cybertonium,” Smokescreen warned. He trailed a finger along the wide edge of the console.

“Sounds like you're going to need some too. But I'm just going to say that you release the kidnapped mech unharmed once the sparkling is independent, and without any ransom for his return. You just let him go home.”

“Deal!”

“I'll draw up a contract immediately.”

“Excellent. And naturally when someone goes missing after the next battle or skirmish, or just happens to be missing, you have no recollection of this conversation.”

“Naturally.”

Smokescreen grinned as he shut down the transmission, copied the file to his personal records, and then deleted it from the communications records. If all went well, after the next skirmish with the enemy, “some lucky Decepticon,” as Sunstreaker had put it, would find himself a long-term guest of the Autobots.

-o-o-o-o-o-

After the battle, Prowl stared down at the two Decepticons, both of them Stunticons. Dead End, the one with dark red plating, purple visored optics, and a rather unattractive dark gold mask, sat stoically on the asphalt, arms and legs restrained by stasis cuffs. He simply stared back, at least until he finally demanded to either be released or executed. The other Stunticon, the white plated car-former known as Breakdown, lay unconscious beside his fellow gestalt member. He'd woken after being captured, only to scream and pass out again in apparent fear.

Prowl sighed. They weren't exactly what he'd hoped for—far from the best for Gears. But then Gears had been foolish enough to turn down the best he ever could hope to get.

“Return us to Megatron. Or just kill us now. Stop this torture and just get it over with,” demanded Dead End again.

“We're not going to kill you. We're just going to... Well. We have a job for you.”

“We're not doing anything for you, Autoscum,” snarled the Stunticon.

“You'll change your mind. And who knows? You might actually enjoy it.”

“Nothing! I'll enjoy nothing!” Dead End said defiantly.

“That's fine. But once the job is done, you'll be set free.” Prowl, nor anyone else, mentioned that this would be a long job.

“Yeah right. Just keep feeding us promises you'll never keep.”

Prowl sighed again, and then he found himself gloating. Gears deserved this wreck of a mech for a mate. And he wondered if the other Stunticon would be just as charming.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Gears glared at the two Decepticons huddled against each other on the berth. They had both been peppered with restraining bolts, the silver heads of which stood out garishly against their plating. To his surprise they were in “the good cell,” the one that was reserved for higher-ranking prisoners. It was much larger, had a tap for washing, and a large padded berth with a blanket and pillows. A partition afforded it a certain amount of privacy from the other cells.

“And you brought me down here for what?” Gears asked. When Jazz and Bumblebee had come for him and led him down into the brig, his aching circuits surged with anticipation. There were rumors about what those special op's 'training sessions' down in the jail involved, and the kinkier theories said that really there was very little training going on, even though stasis cuffs and collars, as well as the ropes and chains, were used. Of course none of the special-ops members ever talked about what went on during the sessions, and they were always careful to clean up after themselves and delete the video surveillance. If anyone asked, Red Alert would just smirk and tell them not to think about it too much.

“Oh, just to see if you could work with these prisoners,” said Jazz.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker leveled their guns at the two Decepticons, causing them to cling together all the tighter. “No! Don't shoot us!” Breakdown wailed. 

Prowl opened the door of the cell, and quick as a wink Jazz shoved Gears in, where he stumbled and felt to the floor. Prowl quickly closed the trap behind him.

“What!” squawked the stunned minibot. “What was that for?” And then realizing that he'd been shut into the cell he ran to the bars and began shaking them. “What are you doing?! Let me out! What kind of a sick joke is this?!”

“Now you three play nice in there,” said Sunstreaker, lowering his rifle.

“Yeah, play real nice,” laughed his twin.

Bumblebee popped six eighth-cubes of energon out of a subspace pocket and pushed them through the bars. “Here you go. A little present for you three.”

Seeing the guns put away and the energon offered, the two Stunticons immediately leapt from the berth, ran up to the bars of the cell, and grabbed all six cubes, and just as quickly retreated to the farthest corner and began downing the fuel.

Gears continued to shake the bars. “Let me out of here!” he howled. “What do you think you're doing?!”

The others laughed. “C'mon. Let's go. They're best left alone at this point,” said Ratchet.

“Best left alone? You've locked me into a cell with two Decepticons and you're just going to leave me here!?” cried the distressed minibot.

“We've locked you into a cell with two carriers. They've got far more to worry about than you do,” grinned Sideswipe.

The two Stunticons suddenly looked up from the feast they were enjoying. “Carriers? What does that have to do with anything?” asked Breakdown.

Jazz laughed wickedly. “Oh, not much. Just the fact that your little cellmate here is surging.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

“Some Lucky Decepticon” continues in Chapter 4: “Trapped”

-o-o-o-o-o-


	4. Trapped

-o-o-o-o-o-

The two Decepticons nearly dropped their cubes of high grade. The first of the six cubes had been sucked down ravenously, but the next ones were being consumed with more restraint. “He's surging?!” Dead End gasped, looking at the minibot that for some unknown reason had been locked in with them.

“Yup. Have fun!” Ratchet called cheerily as he headed out, the last to leave.

“What's this all about?! Oh Primus! Don't tell me you expect us to...” An expression of anger and frustration and helplessness all rolled into one settled itself across Breakdown's faceplate.

“Damn you all!” cursed Gears. “I'm not fragging them!”

Ratchet leaned back in. “You don't have to if you don't want to. But you can if you change your mind,” said the CMO with a sickening gloat.

“Damn you, Ratchet!”

Ratchet just cackled and closed the door to the brig. The heavy sound of the inner bar-locks moving inside it clanged through the relatively empty room.

Gears turned and strode toward the two Stunticons, reached up, and snatched one of the untouched cubes of energon from them. “Gimme that!” He broke the seal on the cube, stomped away, and took a deep swallow. And then he glared at the two Decepticons, who stood there glaring back at him with a mix of horror and disgust on their faceplates. At least they'd been well neutralized given the looks of the bolts that had been sunk into their armor. Some of their transformation cogs had probably been removed as well. Certainly their weapons systems had been rendered inoperational if not completely removed. They wouldn't be able to harm him. “I mean it. I'm not fragging you two. Whether you want me to or not.”

“We don't want you to,” snarled Breakdown.

“You're really surging?” asked Dead End.

“Yes, and there's not going to be any discussion on it. Do I make myself clear?” Gears took another long drink from the cube. “I'm not touching you and you're not touching me.”

Dead End and Breakdown looked at each other. “You know what's going to happen, don't you?” the latter whispered to the other. “They warned us all when Blitzwing started surging.”

“If we're trapped in here with him...”

“Yes.”

Dead End addressed the rather angry minibot. “What's your name?”

“Gears,” he huffed.

“Gears. Call your friends. Have them bust you out of here before... Before something happens. You do know what's going to happen, don't you?”

“I would have called someone already, but the radio dampers in this part of the Ark are tighter than Megatron's aft.”

“So why have they captured us? What's so special about us breeding with you?” asked Breakdown, a nervous sound to his tone.

Gears glowered at the white-plated mech. “I told you that there's not going to be any further discussion on my surging!”

“Well maybe there should be,” Dead End snapped. A day's all it takes before...”

“No!” Gears shouted. “It's not going to happen. You're going to keep to your side of the cell and I'm going to keep to mine. None of us want this.” He went to the bars and gripped them again. At least his factional loyalty and the shock of what the others had done was overriding his coding, at least for the moment. The thought of being locked in a cell with a carrier or two was indeed a titillating one, but there was nothing titillating about the two Decepticons. They weren't even particularly attractive ones. Why couldn't they have at least grabbed one of the cone-headed seekers. They were attractive. Or Soundwave? Megatron's left-hand mech was as sexy as he was formidable. And the rumors about Soundwave...

Gears stopped entertaining thoughts of which Decepticons he'd rather be imprisoned with. At lease he was resisting. But how long would his resistance last? The dark red one had made a good point.

Gears gulped down the rest of the cube, feeling the warmth beginning to spread to his systems, and he hoped it would override the growing desire to simply plop down and start crying in helplessness, disgust, and bitterness.

This was the worst thing that had happened to him in ages, and most of it was his fault.

Gears claimed the berth before his fellow prisoners could return to it, deciding it to be his. They could have the tap. It wasn't really a washrack, just a showerhead with a basin built into the floor below it. And he was kind enough to toss them one of the two pillows and the blanket.

The cubes of energon consumed, the two Decepticons looked about now. Breakdown went up to the expanse of bars at the front of the cell and shook them. “My arms are weak,” he wailed. “These bolts.”

“Yeah. That's what they're for,” grouched Gears. “To keep you from hurting me.”

“And what's to keep you from hurting us?” asked Dead End defensively.

Gears hopped up on the berth and began to settle himself. “Your leaving me alone!” was the snarled reply. “So don't talk to me. And don't touch me.” Gears lay down and made himself comfortable, breathing a prayer of thanks to Primus that his desire to procreate had dimmed for now. Hopefully the peak had passed and that his overenthusiastic spark had given up its foolish attempt to expand their miserable race. They didn't need any more of their kind around. Not Autobots. Not Decepticons. Especially not of himself.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Gears woke and realized that he must have dropped into a recharge cycle, for the overhead lights had shifted to the late evening pattern, and the two Decepticons were now sitting in the furthest corner against the wall, huddled together with little space between them. The white one was crying, and the other had his arm about him obviously trying to comfort him as best he could.

Gears had recognized them as two of the Stunticon team, so they had to be pretty miserable right now—cut off from their gestalt as well as being prisoners. They must have been captured in the last battle—he had heard mention of Menasor being there.

“It's all right. You know they'll at least look after us and probably won't torture us either. At least not too heavily,” assured the dark red one.

“No, because they want us to mate with that unpleasant little minibot. They'll keep us well fueled and well looked after. And then they'll take the sparklings from us, and probably execute us since we'll be of no further use to them.”

“Shhh...” Dead End whispered gently, stroking the distressed mech's helm. “You know we all die in the end. There are worse ways it could happen.”

“He's going to rape me! Probably infect me with half a dozen viruses in the process too.”

“He doesn't want to. You know that. He made it quite clear.”

“He's going to rape me, I tell you. Repeatedly Fill me up with his disgusting transfluid again and again and force his spark on me.”

“Shhhh... He's not going to touch you.”

“Don't let him. You can't let him.”

Dead End looked at his completely distressed gestalt brother, purple optics glowing . “I'll protect you with all that remains of my strength.” He pulled Breakdown against his chest tightly. “If he comes for you, just stay behind me. If I can't fight him off, I'll let him take me, and hopefully that will be enough to cool his lust. You know how the programming is.”

“You'd do that? For me?” Breakdown asked, sounding so timid.

“Of course I would.”

Gears heard the sound of a mask retracting, followed by what sounded like repeated kisses. So much for the mighty Decepticons. If the rest of them were anything like these two, their ranks were filled with terrified children.

“Dead End, do you think we can fight our own programming?” the other mech sighed when the kisses subsided.

“I don't know. I don't know but I hope so. All three of us are aware of what's likely to happen, and I keep feeling his field. It must be pretty strong. And I'm sure the other Autobots all know too. That was their chief medical officer with them giving the minibot all that grief.” Dead End reached up again with his towel and wiped away the optic wash from Breakdown's faceplate. “You'd think there would be plenty of carriers around here for him to spark up. But he's obviously a prisoner here as much as we are.”

“They must have some nefarious purpose for wanting him to breed with us. Something forbidden. Something blasphemous even.”

Dead End sighed. “It's possible.”

Gears, having pretended to remain in recharge so the he could listen in on the two Decepticons, could no longer bear their conversation. Hearing them talking about his state was nearly as bad as them trying to talk to him about it. He made a show of waking, flopping about a bit on the berth and sitting up in time.

“Have a nice nap?” Dead End asked.

“Being asleep is better than being awake,” he pointed out, “when you're trapped in the brig.”

“We didn't touch you,” announced Breakdown.

Gears glared. “If you had I would have woken up and beaten the nanites out of you,” he growled.

“Well a 'good morning' to you,” Dead End huffed sarcastically.

“Yeah.”

“Gears, please try to send a message to your friends,” Dead End pleaded. “See if they'll come get you. As much as we don't want to be in here, we don't want you in here with us as well.”

“The feeling is mutual. And I told you, the radio dampers here are impenetrable. Even psychic vibrations are quashed. Not even Soundwave could get at message through.” At least he had a good excuse to cover up for not really having any friends. Brawn was about it. The other minibots were friendly, but never close. And after what had happened, no one would be willing to do him any favors for a while.

“Well try again. Just check to be sure,” Dead End insisted.

“Fine,” Gears snorted. And a few kliks later he confirmed what he knew. “Only way to talk to someone on the outside is through those hardline ports over there,” he announced, pointing at a panel with a communications glyph on it, well outside of their reach. “So if you can connect me to it, I can try to find someone to get me out of here. Otherwise...”

He was cut off by the sound of the heavy locks on the brig's outer door moving. The door opened and Brawn walked in. “Brawn!” Gears cried out. What fortuitous timing! He leapt off of the berth and ran up to the bars. “Brawn, you've got to get me out of here! They want me to mate with these two and I'm not going to! Look, Brawn, I'll do anything if you let me out.” He gripped the bars enthusiastically. “I'll spark you if you're still willing.” He felt his field suddenly rush out for the other minibot and envelop him.

And when it did, Brawn just shook his head. “Nope. Not letting you out. But I did bring you a few things to make your stay more comfortable.” He opened a subspace pocket and began drawing out various items: the pillows from Gears' berth in their quarters as well as his favorite canvas blanket, a rollback set, a box of rust sticks, several datapads full of novels, and a caddy containing self-maintenance supplies. “Oh, and the twins wanted you to have this.” Brawn reached into another pocket and withdrew a portable holo-vid player. “They said it was for in case you'd forgotten what to do.”

“Forgotten what to do?”

Brawn smirked as Gears opened up the player and saw the titles of the movies it contained.

The Capture of Outpost 17

Outpost 17: An Intimate Interrogation

Outpost 17: The Captain Surrenders

Outpost 17: Private Conquest

Outpost 17: Hot Wax and Deep Polish

Outpost 17: Plugging In Iaconian Style

Outpost 17: The Final Submission

Outpost 17: Outtakes and Extra Material

Gears groaned. The twins would think this was funny, and ironic. The Outpost 17 movies were a notorious series of pornographic holo-vids produced during the war. The plot followed a group of Autobots who'd captured a remote Decepticon installation, but instead of sending the captured Decepticons to a prison camp, they'd turned them into their sex slaves and proceeded to frag them silly. Some claimed the films were Decepticon propaganda, aimed at showing the supposed depravity and hidden lawlessness of the Autobots. Some claimed that the films were Autobot propaganda, designed to show the Decepticons as weak, submissive, and rather willing berthmates once they'd been conquered. Everyone agreed that the scripts were stilted and the premises weak. Everyone also agreed that the interfacing scenes were pretty hot in spite of the weak plot and the controversy over the studio's intentions. After all, some of the most popular porn stars of the time were in the cast.

“Yeah. Tell them thanks,” huffed Gears as he folded up the player and dropped it onto the pile of goods. And then he gripped the bars again and tried to put on a smile, finding it hurt to do so. “Brawn, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry and I've learned my lesson. Tell the others that too. Would you please open the bars and get me out... before it's too late?”

Brawn shook his head again. “I couldn't do that even if I wanted to.” He felt Gears' EM field surging hard against his now, begging for connection. “I've not got the security code to these bars, nor the permission to have it.”

“Then get someone else to do it. Ask Jazz. Tell him I'll give Bluestreak exactly what he wants. Please?” He reached through the bars and stroked a few fingers down Brawn's chest. “Please? I'll give you want you want. Anyone else too.”

Brawn laughed and lifted the hand away. “You burned all your bridges, as the humans say. We all signed that pact and we're sticking to it.”

That pact. They'd told him about it once all of their names were on it, carriers and non-carriers alike. Even Optimus and Omega Supreme had signed it. Even the Dinobots had signed it, though they probably hadn't known quite what exactly they were signing.

“But, you've got two lovely carriers right here to work your charms on,” Brawn continued, fighting back a snicker. The two Stunticons were anything but lovely.

“We're not going to interface with him!” declared Dead End loudly from across the cell.

Brawn laughed again. “Looks like you've got some work to do. Keep working on them, like you're working on me now.”

Gears sighed obviously and turned away. He'd thought Primus had smiled upon him when Brawn had suddenly appeared right when they'd been trying to come up with a plan to derail what was probably inevitable—Brawn, whom Gears considered his only real friend aboard the Ark, the only one that really understood his grumbling and grouching. But now he realized that Primus was not smiling, but laughing. Laughing at him.

“Take care,” said Brawn cheerily. “And oh, go easy on them. Red Alert went pretty heavy with the restraining bolts.”

“Brawn, don't leave me,” Gears wailed as the other mech turned to go.

“I'll come visit tomorrow. See if I'm an uncle yet.”

“Brawn!”

-o-o-o-o-o-

Gears surreptitiously watched the two Decepticons play rollback for a few hours to pass the time. And then they tucked into a corner and Dead End read aloud from a novel to his teammate, who seemed to be soothed by the sound of the other's voice. After several chapters, they tucked down, curled up together with the blanket pulled around them, whispering their goodnights to each other. And he continued to watch as Dead End slid back his mask and kissed Breakdown on the side of the helm, and then on the cheek. It was so loving and tender, and for a moment he envied the two Stunticons. At least they had each other, and were able to lose themselves in that bond. They had each other to endure this miserable episode with while he had no one.

And then he caught himself. He didn't want anyone, right? Wasn't that what had gotten him into this mess in the first place? And he certainly couldn't start thinking of the Decepticons as anything more than the vile, heartless antagonists they were. Of course not. Classifying them as the enemy had to be what was holding back the reproductive protocols. These two were just scared and out of their element. That was it. They were scared and driven to desperation by that fear. Scared of a lot of possible things: torture, abandonment, rape, slavery, and even execution. No he couldn't start thinking of them as fellow Cybertronians. 

He had to distract himself.

Quickly he grabbed the holo-player and opened it up. A movie would be distraction enough.

And then the list of titles loaded upon the player popped up.

With a growl he quickly closed it again. This was not what he needed to be watching. And so he grabbed one of the datapads and started to read the first novel on it. And he read until he fell asleep.

-o-o-o-o-o-

“Some Lucky Decepticon” continues in Chapter 5: “Dealing With It”

-o-o-o-o-o-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Breakdown & Dead End – I just love the poor emo Stunticons in this chapter. I hope you do too. Breakdown's freaked out ( and we'll find out more of why in Chapter 5) and Dead End is trying to be the strong one. I gave Dead End something of the leadership role, and you'll see how it pans out as time ticks away and the inevitable looms closer. Sure Dead End expects the world to end and death to come, but at least he'll look good when that time comes.
> 
> Brawn – fills something of the 'only one who actually' cares role in this story. And boy is the fellow minibot big on tough-love. He's not about to surrender to Gears' pleading without appropriate justice being dealt out first. He even signed that pact.
> 
> The Pact – I can just envision something like this following scene:
> 
> Wheeljack – Grimlock, I need you and your team members to put your names on this pact. Hands him a datapad containing the pact.
> 
> Grimlock – Staring at the text. This say that if I put my name on this, me not interface with Autobot Gears.
> 
> Wheeljack – Yes, that's right. Now here's the stylus. So just sign your glyph, and then give it to Slag to sign. Hands him the stylus.
> 
> Grimlock – But Me Grimlock not want to interface with Autobot Gears. Why do I need to write that down?
> 
> Wheeljack – It's just a formality, to let him know that you won't. Now just write down your name glyph. Points at the place where to sign.
> 
> Grimlock – Fine. Me sign. Signs and hands the pad and the stylus to Slag. Now, where other pacts?
> 
> Wheeljack – Other pacts?
> 
> Grimlock – Me not want to interface with most other Autobots. Where do I sign that I feel this way.
> 
> Wheeljack – Well there's just one pact. To say you won't interface with Gears.
> 
> Grimlock – But me not want to interface with others. How they know if me not sign other pacts?
> 
> Outpost 17 – I'm not sure why I feel so proud of this little bit of Cybertronian culture. I giggled a lot while coming up with the movie titles. The idea of both factions claiming the movies were propaganda created by the other is such a hilarious concept.


	5. Dealing With It

-o-o-o-o-o-

Dead End woke when Breakdown shifted, and he looked about the room, which was completely dark now except for the glow of his own optics and the low strip of lights along the aisle between the cells. The depths of the night. And then he noticed the messages from his frame and there was the one that he'd been dreading... that they'd all been dreading.

 _T_ he _regular presence of a potential sire has been detected. Initiate reproductive readiness sequence?_

Dead End responded with an unhesitant 'no.' And unless the situation changed, he'd be asked again every two cycles.

Breakdown shifted again, and then his optics lit. For a moment he struggled in Dead End's arms but calmed quickly, remembering where he was and why he was so close to another mech.

“We're okay,” Dead End whispered to speed the calming. “Still doomed, but okay.” And then he withdrew a hardline cable, found a port in Breakdown's shoulder, and plugged it in. ::At least we still have this,:: he said happily across the link.

::Thankfully,:: Breakdown responded. And then shaking fingers curled tightly upon Dead End's knee. ::The message! Did you get it too?::

::Yes. And so it begins. We get nine more messages, and then the programming switches to automatic mode.::

::Helpless.:: Breakdown sobbed once, and Dead End's arms tightened around him. ::I'll still do what I can to protect you.::

::I'll understand if you can't. We don't have weapons or abilities or radios or even our strength in here.::

Dead End rotated his position to hold his gestalt brother closer, fingers stroking tiny comforting circles on the armor beneath their tips. ::Breakdown? If it becomes inevitable, would you like me to break or even take your seals so that if I can't protect you he won't have the pleasure of being your first?::

The mech in his arms trembled but spoke in defiance. ::No! I don't want to be touched there. It's not going to happen!:: And then he felt Breakdown slump against him. ::It is going to happen, isn't it?::

::A day from now and we probably won't be able to resist if he comes for us. So short of a rescue or the Autobots pulling him out of here... we're doomed.::

::You love that word, don't you?::

::It's a word that rings with so much truth.::

The sat together in silence for a while, listening to the sounds of the Ark at night—the humming of the ventilation system, the tiny whirrings of Gears in recharge, the heavy low throb of something deeper inside the great ship. And after a breem, Breakdown spoke again. ::If we aren't rescued, and he isn't pulled out of here, I want you to take my seals.::

::Take them? Are you sure? I can just break them.::

::Take them. I'd rather surrender them to you than to lose them to that miserable little minibot. I don't want him to be the first to spike me.::

Dead End clutched his gestalt mate even tighter and closer. Breakdown had guarded his sexual function and his valve seals so closely since their creation. ::I'm sorry that it had to be this way.::

::It's war. We all risk horrible things happening to us. The Autobots claim to be better than we are, but it's not true. They're just as bloodthirsty and corrupt as our faction.::

Dead End retracted his mask and kissed Breakdown as he had before. ::If it comes to that, I'll go really easy on you. Just enough to break both seals. I won't even overload.::

::If you think that's best.::

Dead End lay his head against a white shoulder, holding the other mech tightly until they both fell into recharge again.

-o-o-o-o-o-

The next morning Gears woke to find the two Decepticons at the tap washing themselves beneath the stream of hot water. He picked up his novel again and continued to read, glancing over now and then. Breakdown was finished first, but Dead End continued for hours, washing himself and drying off, and then painting and polishing and re-washing. He seemed intent on painting over the heads of all the restraining bolts so that they were less conspicuous. Admittedly they weren't attractive, being placed for function rather than aesthetics. And once he was pleased with his efforts he called over Breakdown and painted over the white mech's bolts.

Gears grumbled something disparaging about vanity to them and grabbed a couple of rust sticks from his pocket to snack on as he read.

Noticing this, the two Decepticons moved a little closer, hopeful expressions on their faces. “May I have a rust stick too?” asked Breakdown, trying to look humble and hungry.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“They were a gift for me. Not for you either of you.”

“P-Please? It's been a long time since I've had one.”

“No.”

“Fine,” Breakdown sighed.

Dead End was a little less subtle. “I hope your mouth rusts.”

“I hope your valve rusts.”

“If it does, it will match that rusted spike of yours.”

Gears grinned on the inside. The exchange had been childish and petulant, but the image of fragging a Decepticon with a rusty valve was particularly unappealing.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Hoist and Prowl came in just past noon and Gears immediately went up to the bars again. “Prowl! Hoist! Am I glad to see you. You've come to let me out, right? You're not going to leave me in here with these two any longer, right?”

Prowl's response was to push six small cubes of energon through the bars. “No. We're not going to let you out.” He wore a mirthless smirk on his face.

Hoist had out a medical scanner and was moving to the other end of the bars where the Decepticons were. “Breakdown, Dead End. Please come forward. Or at least step away from each other. Though coming forward would give me the best readings. I'm just going to perform a quick medical scan.” The two moved to the bars hesitantly. They knew of Hoist by way of the Constructicons, and knew of his function as a doctor. The other gestalt had described him as kind, playful, and compassionate enough to perform some small repairs and even a bit of routine maintenance upon them that time they'd worked together.

“You wanted a mate,” Prowl continued, “so we got you what you wanted. Two in fact.

“But I don't want to mate with a Decepticon!”

Prowl's neutral expression slid to one of haughtiness. “Too bad.”

Hurt, Gears pulled back. How could they be doing this to one of their own kind? Swallowing his pride once again, he tried to plead with the tactician. “Look, I've learned my lesson. And I know you must have all through it pretty funny to lock me in here with these two. And I'm sure you've all had a good laugh now at my expense. Ha-ha. But I'll be sure not to do the same thing ever again. I'll even try to be a bit nicer.” he wrung his hands The humility had been difficult to find, and hopefully it was what would appease the SIC. “Please let me out now?” he begged. “This isn't funny any more.”

Prowl's was unmoved. “Three more days,” he said coldly. “And drink that energon. Two cubes for each of you.” And then he turned away and left the room.

With a bitter moan Gears sunk to his knees.

Hoist finished his scans of the two Stunticons and then came over and began scanning Gears.

“They're about to activate, aren't they?” Gears asked.

Hoist chuckled softly. “Tomorrow morning most likely.”

All three prisoners winced.

“It doesn't have to be this way. Can't we just move on?” Gears whimpered. “Besides, it's damp down here. I can feel th itch of rust already forming on my legs. And can't you hear that gritting sound in my left femoral servo?”

Hoist put his hand atop one of Gears' that was clenched around a bar. “I know you've learned your lesson. But when you hurt Bluestreak, you hurt Prowl as well.”

“Is he bonded to Bluestreak as well as Jazz?” Gears asked. He was usually out of the loop, by his own choice, when it came to relationships. He couldn't care less who was fragging whom.

Hoist shook his head. “No, but they're very close. Prowl raised him after they found Bluestreak in the ruins of Praxus. Don't get much closer than that besides bonding. And not to mention that I've been trying unsuccessfully to get myself sparked since well before coming to Earth. I was thrilled to hear you were surging—I thought perhaps it would finally happen for me. But it was just false hope.”

Gears slumped and sighed. “I do deserve this.”

Hoist's tone of voice was kind. “All will be well.”

“But tomorrow?” Tears were beginning to form in the corners of his optics.

“Tomorrow? Tomorrow you're going to have a great time. Maybe come out of here a daddy.”

“He's going to rape us tomorrow!” cried Breakdown, shuddering visibly.

“He's not going to rape you,” huffed Hoist. “You know you'll be completely willing once your reproductive protocols switch to automatic mode. I'm guessing you've already gotten a few activation readiness messages.”

Neither Stunticon answered.

“I'll take that as a yes,” the doctor said, his visor brightening. “And you're both in great shape for carrying. Everything checked out perfectly regarding your gestational chambers. Ratchet really wanted a nanite sample, but I didn't think it was necessary.” He turned back to Gears. “So you've even got a choice—burgundy or snow. Or you don't have to choose. You can have both if you want.”

“I don't want either,” he moped.

“And that's fine too. But you still have three days in here. Enjoy.”

Gears suddenly clambered to his feet. “Hoist! Does Optimus know I'm being held in here against my will?” His mood brightened. Of all the Autobots, Optimus Prime would probably show some sympathy and release him. Surely their leader would see how wrong and unfair this little vendetta was.

“He does know.”

“Well?”

“He was the one that said three days. Prowl wanted to keep you here until your surge cycle ended.”

“Great...” Gears groaned, falling forward against the bars. And then he looked up at Hoist in desperation. “Hoist, get me out of here before tomorrow and I will make it happen for you. I promise I'll spark you. I'll frag you three times a day until we know you're carrying. Three? Four? Five?”

“Sorry Gears. You had your chance, and I've embarrassed myself enough already over this.” Hoist waved goodbye and departed, leaving Gears to mourn his punishment.

“My spark is strong. I can do it for you!” he wailed after him.

The two Stunticons moved for the energon rations, but only took their share. Admittedly they had some sympathy for their cellmate. They sat on the berth to drink.

Halfway through fueling Dead End paused to ask a question of the Autobot. “So what did you do that pissed everyone off so much? Especially those two?”

“And the stocky guy yesterday said something about a pact. What was that all about?

“Nothing,”

“Nothing? It was all about nothing? What? The Autobots throw their own kind into the brig for nothing?”

“It's nothing. I don't want to talk about it. Let me tell you about what jerks all of my teammates are instead. ”

“I think we should talk about it. We should know what kind of criminal we're stuck in here with.”

“Tell us what you did to Bluestreak. Poor guy. Must have been pretty bad.”

“It wasn't. I'm not a criminal! It was just me... being a jerk... like everyone else.”

“So they threw you in jail for being a jerk. Geeze, if we Decepticons did that, we'll all be locked up all the time. C'mon, tell us.”

Gears stood and snorted. “If I tell you, will you shut up about it?”

“Yes. But only if you're truthful. And we want some rust sticks too.”

“Fine.” Gears picked up his two energon cubes, tucked one into subspace, and started to drink the other. “I'll tell you, and then you have to leave me alone about it.”

“Leaving you alone is what we want too. Especially tomorrow.”

“All right then. I'll talk.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

Brawn came by later with more 'comfort things' for Gears, and the two re-enacted the previous day's visit nearly word-for-word. Gears begged Brawn to get him out, and Brawn refused, even after Gears promised to spark him and apologize yet again to everyone, especially Bluestreak.

The Stunticons watched quietly, nibbling quietly on their rust sticks, understanding the whole exchange this time, as well as fighting back both giggles as well as a few sympathetic feelings. And not too much later the two Decepticons went to sleep early, having made something of a bed in the cell's corner using the blanket and pillows. But internal alarms were set for midnight. They'd have a few hours before they lost control of their will.

 -o-o-o-o-o-

“Some Lucky Decepticon” continues in Chapter 6: “Breakdown's Surrender”

-o-o-o-o-o-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scared Stunticons – Battle they can handle. Forced to breed with an Autobot... not in their code. The thought of being intimate with someone outside of their own gestalt, let alone their own faction, is terrifying.
> 
> Prowl – is a jerk.
> 
> Gears – really has learned his lesson. He's not just bluffing, and he's not just desperate to get out of the cell. And as grumbly as he is I can't see him as being a liar or a conniver.


	6. Breakdown's Surrender

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stickiness between consenting Stunticons ahead. If you're not wanting to read it, skip ahead to Chapter 7.

Dead End drew out his hardline and plugged into Breakdown's shoulder as he had the previous night. ::Are you ready for this?:: he asked.

::Yes. As much as I ever will.::

::All right then.:: He took Breakdown's hand in one of his and stroked it gently with the other. And then Dead End slowly moved Breakdown's legs apart and knelt between them. Taking his helm between his hands, purple visored optics locked onto blue-white eyes, a certain sadness and regret in the expressions. ::I really promise I'll go easy on you. Like I said last night. I'll just break both valve seals and I won't even overload.:: He retracted his mask fully. ::If it becomes too much, tell me. I'll slow down or stop if you need me to,:: he said softly and pushed hips lips against the red-plated face.

::I will.::

Dead End kissed Breakdown again and slid back a little between Breakdown's spread legs. When his hand touched the plate that protected his interface array, Breakdown gasped and tensed, but then calmed immediately. ::Thank you for doing this,:: he said.

::I'm just sorry that it's not under better circumstances. Captive. Imprisoned in the Autobot jail. And... him.::

::Less than ideal, isn't it?::

::But we'll be fine::

Breakdown leaned forward and kissed Dead End just as his hand began to move on the protective plate again. Dead End froze and let the other bestow the kiss. He'd left plenty of time for them to be able to proceed slowly. Breakdown could be so fragile at times, and this was definitely one of those times. The mech had been terrified of interfacing, even refusing his gestalt mates for a long time. Motormaster, in a rare display of understanding and compassion had excused him from actively interfacing with the team, but had demanded his presence during the group sessions. Eventually they'd gotten him to give in and spike Dragstrip—though it had taken a lot of coaxing and some chemical help from Mixmaster. After that he'd at least allow the others to stroke his equipment and sensor net until he overloaded while held in Dead End's arms.

When Breakdown ended the kiss, Dead End moved again to touch the panel again, this time sliding it open. Breakdown sobbed once.

::Want me to stop?::

Breakdown shook his head. ::I'm sorry. Just my nerves. Continue.::

Dead End could not help but smile. The head of Breakdown's spike sat there waiting, two biolights upon it. All Cybertronians had a spike, carriers and sires alike, but there were differences.

Dead End ran his thumb over the partially recessed head, eliciting a gasp and a brightening of the two biolights—their glow changing from a deep blue to a bright blue-white that matched his optics. ::That's not my valve,:: Breakdown whispered.

The digit wiggled again over the head, focusing on the indentation that extended the length of the spike, though right now very little of it was available. The concave surface was filled with pressure sensors designed to be stimulated pleasurably by matching ridges along the floor and ceiling of a carrier's valve. It was this stimulation that would eventually trigger an overload of sensations and the release of transfluid from the one doing the spiking. ::I know it's not.:: Dead End smiled in the darkness. ::I thought maybe I'd overload you first here... relax you for the taking of your seals.::

Breakdown squirmed slightly. ::No. Just do it and get it over with. Don't try to to make it good for me.::

::Breakdown... I want this to be good for you.::

“You don't have to.::

The dark red mech stroked his teammate's chest. ::Let me. Tomorrow who knows how that Autobot will be. At least he's small and can't pound you too hard. Imagine if they'd thrown us to one of the bigger guys. Or to the Prime. We'd really be in trouble then.::

::We'd be broken beyond repair. I heard what Skyfire used to do to Starscream, and that was even before the war.::

::Well Starscream loves it rough; we all know that. But please, let me make your first spiking pleasurable at least. I know how to make it feel good.::

Breakdown sighed his concession. ::All right.::

Dead End smile again and kissed his teammate's forehead with a surprisingly affectionate touch. ::You won't regret it.::

::All right.:: he said again. ::But just skip right to the main event. I do want to get this over with.::

::If you wish.:: Dead End kissed him once again and then directed his attention to the open interface array beneath his hand.

Beneath the spike sat an oval metal cap, not really a seal—just a long-term cover for a carrier's valve, an extra layer of protection for the components beyond. He pulled it gently, and then a bit harder, and the press-fit cap released with a hiss of air.

::Oh! I just got a message!:: Breakdown exclaimed.

Dead End smiled. ::Tell it 'yes'.:: he responded as he carefully tucked the cap into a pocket for safekeeping.

It felt strange to Breakdown as the equipment beyond the cap came to life, lubricant cells switching on and the inner array of sensory nodes inside drawing power for the first time. A whole new part of him awakened, one that had lain dormant since his creation.

Dead End traced the rim encircling the spiroid gates, earning another gasp from Breakdown as well as the brightening of the serial biolights positioned along the rim. And then he pushed against the gates, their fins retracting to reveal the first of the two seals.

It was lavender in color, rubbery, and slightly stretchy-- a barrier to keep dust and air and fluids out of the valve. ::You sure you want me to take it?::

::Yes. And the other. Just rip right through them.::

::All right.:: Dead End released his spike and moved into place. The pointed head of it pressed up against the seal and he felt Breakdown tremble again. ::Are you ready?::

::I am.::

Dead End reached toward the head of his spike, moving as if to aim it in the right direction. But unbeknownst to Breakdown, he extended a tiny utility knife from a fingertip and slit the seal, guaranteeing he'd need to use less pressure to penetrate him and wouldn't come crashing in when it finally gave way. Instead the seal would tear neatly and he could enter his teammate's valve with relative ease. And enter him he did, pressing in gently and eliciting a moan of both surprise and delight.

::That... that wasn't bad,:: whispered Breakdown across the link.

::I told you I wanted to make it feel good for you.:: He looked into the grey-white optics that were glinting into his own, and felt the lost hands settling onto his shoulders. And then suddenly Breakdown remembered how much he hated to be looked at and turned away.

Dead End pushed further in with his spike, moving slowly as to give his partner's inner workings a chance to adjust to and accept the intrusion. But soon he felt the second seal in the depths of the vestibule. This seal guarded the entrance to the gestation chamber, the womb at a carrier's center. Here the seminal nanites would focus, joining with those of the carrier, their bodies and the transfluid congealing into a living protoframe as guided by the spark given by a surging mech.

::I feel you inside me,:: Breakdown commented softly, his optics on-line but unfocused. ::I feel you with me.::

Dead End kissed him. ::You're doing well. We'll be done soon.::

::Take your time. It feels nice, having you there.::

::I knew it would.::

::I thought it would hurt, or scare me. But it doesn't::

::We still have the other seal. And I'm sure it will be more difficult to break than the first.:: Dead End had no way of slitting it as he had the first to ease the taking of it. He could hope to break through with a quick thrust, but it wouldn't be as gentle as the first had.

::I understand.::

Dead End kissed him again. ::It won't be any worse than damage we've taken in battle.::

::No. Far less worse. We're being all too prissy about this, aren't we?::

Dead End smiled in the dark. ::Just don't tell anyone we were.::

The dark red mech lingered a while, kissing and stroking his teammate's plating. Breakdown's optics switched off and he allowed himself to relax, actually letting down his guard enough to enjoy the sensations. Dead End slowly rocked his hips back and forth into him, the head of his spike following the ridge on the floor of the valve. To his surprise, Breakdown began to squirm and make and odd hiccuping whimper, his cooling systems straining. From the interfacing sessions with the team, Dead End knew by this sound that the paranoid Stunticon was drawing close to an overload.

::Breakdown, I'm going to take the second seal when you overload. You won't feel it as much then.::

::All right. I'll brace myself.::

::Don't. Just relax. and let it happen.::

::All right. I'll trust you.::

Dead End sped up his motion and opened his gestalt-bond fully, hoping that his partner would reciprocate. As he'd learned from times with their team, the finer points of sensation would be easier to follow through it and he'd be able to time the puncturing of the seal just right so that the pleasure of the overload would drown out the force he'd have to use to break the rubbery blockade.

Breakdown's little staccato whimpers sped up as well.

Keeping his wits about him and refusing to give in to his own building charge, unlike he had encouraged Breakdown to do, Dead End brought the blue and white mech to a climax of sensation. As the haze of thought hit him through the bond, he forced his spike hard against the final seal, tearing through it with three hard thrusts. Breakdown strangled his own cries, only a few whimpers erupting from his vocalizer, though Dead End was hard-pressed to tell the reason for them. Had they been cries of pain? Of fear? Of pleasure? It was too hard to tell.

Dead End ceased his thrusting, fighting the urge to overload himself. And when he felt Breakdown relax once again, he went to pull out. He could finish himself outside of his teammates valve.

But Breakdown, still fully conscious, held his hips tightly. ::Overload inside me,:: he said with all conviction.

::What?::

::Overload inside me. I'll hold onto the fluid. And then if Gears manages to spark me, I'll at least have something of you in the mix.::

::Breakdown? Are you sure?::

::I mean it. And if you want, I'll do the same for you.::

::You'd be willing to spike me? You've only spiked Dragstrip... once.”

::If it will give our kind the generational advantage, I'm willing to.::

Dead End kissed his teammate with all excitement and conviction. ::Breakdown, I love you.::

Breakdown actually smiled.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Gears slowly woke out of his state of recharge, something having changed in the cellroom. And as he came to full consciousness, he realized that the sounds that had woken him were those of the two Decepticons in the corner. Breakdown and Dead End were interfacing.

They were obviously trying to be quiet about it—no words, no hard clanging, no moaning. But they couldn't be completely soundless. He could still hear the whirring of cooling fans, the creak of movement, the whisper of kisses, the whimpers of pleasure, and the gasps of passion.

Could they really be Decepticons? Everyone said that the Decepticons were anything but quiet and passionate in the berth.

Gears fought back a sigh. Perhaps without their faction they were just ordinary Cybertronians—reasonable, logical, and ordinary—the sort of thing he was looking for in a breeding partner, the sort of mech he hoped to bestow a spark upon. His field was twinging, suddenly reminding him that these two were carriers, and that his spark was surging.

It wouldn't take much. He could just walk the few steps to the corner and join them. They were already aroused, lubricated, and at least one was open. Perhaps they were already on automatic protocols. That would make it so easy. There would be no resistance, just a welcome. He'd only have to offer, and they'd simply pull apart from each other, and lie peaceably beneath him, open valves and open chests ready to accept what he had to offer.

Gears suddenly tensed. No. This was wrong. So wrong. His body was about to betray him. The fact that the pair were indulging in what he was hoping to prevent only made it worse. “Hey! Knock it off, you two!” he snarled loudly through the darkness.

Startled, they paused, going silent at his command, and then Dead End snarled back, “Leave us alone!”

“Whatever are you thinking?!”

“Go, away Gears. Leave us alone.”

“I would, but I can't exactly now, can I?”

“Then shut up like you have!”

“Why don't you two put your spikes away and shut down!?”

“Might as well. You've really killed the mood.”

“Good! Now let me get some recharge!” Gears snorted in disgust, rolled over, and settled again.

Suddenly the pair in the corner began giggling unashamedly.

Gears grabbed the other pillow and put it over his head as if it could drown them out.

::Dead End... Thank you.::

::Anything for you, Breakdown.::

Breakdown stretched up and stroked his teammate's helm. ::If it happens, our sparklings will be more of us than him.::

::Yes.:: Dead End kissed Breakdown tenderly a final time. ::At least we'll have that on him.::

-o-o-o-o-o-

“Some Lucky Decepticon” continues in Chapter 7: “Giving In”

-o-o-o-o-o-


	7. Giving In

Gears woke in the morning to find the Decepticons beneath the tap, washing off spent transfluid and the other residues of interfacing.

It was tomorrow. He had to keep a tight hold of himself. He had to fight them off when they came for him, demanding his spike and surging spark. And it wasn't long before the first hint of their changed state came... in fact it came right as they realized he was awake. “Gears,” called Dead End, “come get washed up. You didn't wash yesterday, so it's time.”

“I'd be happy to brush your seams,” said Breakdown.

“And your friend included this in the bucket of cleaning supplies,” said Dead End, waving a bottle of general purpose white-grease.

They were right. He was due for a cleaning, and definitely overdue for a lubrication of his cables. But he wasn't about to accept any attentions from these two. It was just part of the process—the preening, the courting, the pampering, the soliciting. He'd already been through it with his own factionmates. Brawn had given him a wonderful circuit-rub just before his proposal. There'd been several boxes of mineral goodies delivered in a very personal fashion. Streetwise had caught him in the wash-racks and doted on his appearance for the better part of an hour before Gears had chased him away. He remembered Bluestreak repeatedly walking past him in the rec-room that morning before his offer, displaying his wings and bringing him a cube of energon and a human newspaper, smiling prettily for him despite the scowls that were returned.

Gears slapped himself mentally again. What ever had he been thinking to turn down any of their offers?

“I'll wash myself,” he huffed. “Tell me when you're done.”

“We're done now,” they said almost in unison, and backed away from the tap, dripping all over the floor.

Gears left the berth and trudged over.

He began to shower beneath the tap, reaching for a wash towel to rub the dust off with. He wasn't that dirty, but ever since arriving on Earth he found it hard to stay clean. This overwhelmingly biological environment seemed determined to contaminate him with bacteria, pollen, human trash, leaves, grass, and insects along with the road grime and dust. The usual post-battle activity was a long session spent in the washracks freeing himself of the aforementioned. Sometimes Brawn or one of the other minibots would assist, and the company was tolerable, even if just to block out part of the activities going on beneath some of the other taps. With the need to clean up so much, the post-battle 'glad-to-be-alive' fragging that went on sometimes began in the washracks rather than in more private areas.

“May I help?” asked Dead End.

Gears looked over. The two Stunticons crouched on the floor all to closely. “No.”

“You can't reach your back. I'll scrub it for you.”

“My back is clean enough.”

“There's a big dusty patch on it.”

“I'll stay dusty.”

“You don't have to,” said Breakdown. And he rose, picked up a washtowel, and crept closer.

Gears scowled again. “You're on automatic now, aren't you?” he demanded of the two.

They didn't respond, save for the tiny, shameful nod from Breakdown, who immediately tossed aside the towel and retreated.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Later, the two Decepticons had out the rollback game set again and were setting up to play again on the floor of the large cell. Gears noticed Dead End had placed several goldslips in front of him to gamble with. Breakdown had a few goldslips as well as several tiny cubes of highgrade. “Where did you get that stuff!?” Gears asked in surprise.

“Had it on us when your friends took us. They didn't confiscate it amazingly.”

“Have anything to gamble with?” Dead End asked, sounding hopeful for once.

“Just these,” Gears answered, pulling out the untouched box of oilcakes and mineral goodies that Gears had brought not long before when visiting.

“Join us?” invited the burgundy-plated Stunticon.

Gears would have said no, but the prospect of winning a few goldslips was too irresistible. The gold had long worn thin on his connectors, and there was no way he could afford to buy gold from the humans. And he was good at rollback. It would be easy to win against his fellow prisoners.

“All right,” he said. “But don't touch me.”

“We don't want to touch you.”

“Yeah right,” he muttered.

“We don't. You just assume we do,” said Breakdown defensively.

Gears just snorted.

The gaming went well, the goods changing hands often, though the oilcakes were eaten as soon as they were won. Dead End drank one of the cubes of high-grade as well. Surprisingly the three began to relax, and even laugh together at times. For the first time since being put into the cell, they began to feel at ease with each other.

At some point Gears noticed that Dead End was staring at him. And then he noticed that Dead End had removed his facemask. It wasn't just pulled down as it had been when he'd seen Dead End kiss his sobbing gestalt-mate. It had been taken off and now sat off to the side of the room. He tried not to look, but found the Decepticon much handsomer than expected, with clean, strong lines to the structure of his faceplate, and the dull gold plating went so nicely with the purple optic band.

And at some point the two found themselves glancing at each other.

Soon after, Dead End edged a little closer.

Gears did not protest when the distance closed even further.

He didn't even complain when Dead End's hand accidentally brushed against his.

Dead end drank half of the high-grade cube he'd just won, and then gave the other half to Gears.

Smiles were exchanged.

Gears bit off half of a selenium mineral goodie and offered the other half to Dead End, who took it from the Autobot's hand with his lips rather than his fingers.

Soon after they ignored the fact that Dead End's thigh rested against the arm Gears was leaning on.

And at some point the two noticed Breakdown staring aghast at them.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Gears slid back onto the berth to allow a bit of room for the other mech.

“Dead End! Don't do it,” Breakdown cried, his voice a rusty squeak as his teammate joined the minibot on the berth.

“I'm going to. It doesn't matter. Megatron will probably kill the sparkling anyway. Probably myself with it as well. At least I'll be free of the endless waiting for Mortilus to show up.”

“The Autobots will keep the sparkling!”

“He'll be better off here than in Megatron's hands.”

Gears scowled. “Stop arguing you two. Just open up and we'll let Primus decide in the end,” he grouched.

“Dead End...” Breakdown cried again.

“Shhh... I'll be fine.”

“We said we wouldn't.”

“Tell that to our coding.”

“On your back,” Gears ordered the deep red mech.

Dead End complied, stretching himself out and spreading his legs apart. He wondered how the minibot would be, if Gears would just shove into him, thrust frenetically for a minute, overload, and pull out—Dragstrip's style. Or if he would frag him non-stop for the rest of the day and into the night, going through every possible position they could manage—Wildrider's style. Or perhaps he would be rough and demanding but satisfied quickly as Motormaster was. Or maybe he'd be more like Breakdown, quiet and thorough, but ready to finish as soon as possible.

Gears climbed between the long legs and groped at the plating covering the interface array. “You're hot,” he commented.

“I'm excited,” Dead End replied.

“Good. You'll be nice and lubricated already then.”

“Want to check?” Dead End slid open the panel just a finger's width and stretched languidly against the pillows. He felt sexy, what with his breeding protocols now running at a hundred percent and a fresh wash this morning and a thorough polishing yesterday. The fact that he'd so very recently taken Breakdown's seals only made him all the more confident.

Gears gave a little snort of amusement and then opened the panel the rest of the way, pushing back the plate. And then he gave a little huff of disappointment.

“What?”

“You've got one of those new configurations. Circular opening with targeting lights. And far too many sensor nodes I'll bet,” the Autobot complained.

“So?”

“Mechs of my generation were built for real pleasure. Not just a quick frag against a wall and an easy overload.”

“There's nothing wrong with how I'm built,” Dead End huffed. For a moment his insulted sensibilities overrode the breeding protocols and he began to close the panel, but Gears' hand, faster than expected, caught it before it could close. “What!? If you're just going to insult me...”

“I'm not going to insult you. I'm going to spark you, and unfortunately for you, you're probably going to have a hard time walking afterwards.” He pushed the panel back open.

Dead End did not fight it, but laughed bemusedly at Gears' confidence. “What? You? A minibot? Good luck with that.”

The Autobot looked at him with a smug expression, and then proceeded to demonstrate exactly how mechs of his generation were far superior when it came to performance in the berth.

-o-o-o-o-o-

“Some Lucky Decepticon” continues in Chapter 8: “Outpost 17”

-o-o-o-o-o-


	8. Outpost 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gears spikes and sparks Dead End in this chapter. If you don't want to read it, skip ahead to chapter 9.

Gears slowly traced his hands over the seams in Dead End's armor—a practiced touch that soon had the Stunticon shivering with pleasure. A charge of electricity rose from his sensor net, tingling in a delicious loop of feedback like an itch that wouldn't be scratched. But this wasn't an itch. It was pure delight. And it went on and on. None of his partners aboard the Nemesis had ever stimulated him this way for more than a klik. Of course aboard the Nemesis, interfacing was rarely done with much attention or love. The goal was usually just to get off quickly before one burned up too much of their day's energon ration. Wildrider was the exception, purchasing or saving up extra fuel for his marathon sessions. The indefatigable warrior often continued long after his partner was too drained to reciprocate and just lay there subject to Wildrider's whims.

And as his fingers slithered toward Dead End's valve the Stunticon clutched at the blanket beneath him on the berth, and then he raised himself on one arm.

“Yes? Something you want?” Gears asked teasingly.

Dead End’s mouth hung open wantonly, letting a little longing groan escape from between parted lips. His optics were offline. “No, I... Well, I...” Dead End’s voice crackled with static. “Gears?” 

The minibot smiled. The Decepticon sounded about to begin begging. And he would make him beg for it, a punishment for the repeated insults and protests. He climbed atop Dead End’s torso and leaned over him so that their faceplates almost touched. Dead End shuddered harder. “Tell me what you want.”

Dead End collapsed back to the berth and his head rolled to the side. “Oh why did you have to be an Autobot? This is so wrong.”

Gears made a noise of disgust and turned Dead End's face back toward him. “Forget our factions. Tell me what you want.” He lowered himself to lie chest to chest atop the Stunticon's willing frame, Dead End's EM field was going crazy now, pulsing hard against the other mech, seeking access to the spark it sensed. His lips hovered over Dead End’s, optics locked on the visor of larger mech under him. “Online your optics, Dead End. Tell me what you want,” he repeated.

Dead End closed his mouth and turned on his vision again, staring right up into the bright blue optics of the minibot.

“You're really quite something without that mask on,” Gears complimented and bent closer, grabbing Dead End’s lips with his own. “I can see why you two were at it in the night,” he said as he broke the rough kiss, leaving Dead End’s mouth open and twitching for more. But the minibot refused to give him anything more than a reason to twitch Instead he just hung there, their faceplates less than a finger's breadth apart.

“Please? ”

“Please what?” Gears’s hands came up to brush against Dead End's faceplate, echoing what he'd been doing earlier to the rest of his frame.

“Please... spark me.”

“Spark you? Yesterday you didn't even want me to touch you.”

“Please. I can't help myself. Just share your spark with me. It's what I'm here for, isn't it?”

Gear's hand dropped down to caress the Stunticon's chest. “You're very eager.”

“I know. I'm eager and ashamed,” he admitted. “Please stop toying with me and just take me.”

Gears' changed positions again, squirming his body down so he could reach Dead End’s hips, and once more the deep red mech gasped as he drew close to the waiting valve, slick with lubricant. The heat from the area was strong, the systems inside at full readiness. His hand hovered over the exposed interface array, teasing just by not touching. He could see lubricant bleeding through the gates of the valve, slick and wanting his spike. This would be good, even if the Decepticon was satisfied all too easily. The minibot reached for the ring of lights and ran his finger around the valve's rim before suddenly dipping it inside.

The resultant moan from Dead End started up a new round of sobbing from Breakdown, who was sitting on the floor at the end of the berth now, the blanket wrapped around and over him as if it could block out the rest of the world.

Gears felt his spike growing uncomfortably hot behind its panel. He did want to frag the Dead End even if he was a Decepticon, to fill him up with transfluid and then allow their sparks to merge. It had been far too long since he'd merged with anyone, not since...

Pushing the memories aside before they could stop him, he refocused on the dark red mech in front of him. Gears pushed several fingers into the welcoming valve, feeling about the ridges and the sensor nodes inside before slipping his whole hand inside the clenching structure. Dead End moaned again and spread his thighs apart further, one leg moving to hang off the edge of the berth.

Gears made himself a place between the larger mech's legs, and as he knelt he released his spike, its length jutting forth excitedly.

The sound of that made Dead End push up onto his elbows to look down at Gears, the minibot flaunting the newly revealed equipment.

“This what you want, Dead End?” he teased, framing it with his free hand, on noticing his partner was looking.

Dead End was actually impressed—for a grumpy little Autobot Gears was nicely built, a silver spike about the size of his own, undecorated save for a bold blue stripe running up the shaft. “Yes. Now stop teasing me and get on with it before I die of frustration, or boredom.”

Gears scowled and shoved his occupied hand in as far as it would go, far enough to where his fingers met the cluster of sensor nodes at the end of the tight passage, the ones that ringed the entrance to the gestation chamber and formed a dock for a spike-tip. Dead End overloaded with a shriek, his back arching off of the berth and his optics going from purple to near-white as the jolt overspread his whole frame.

-o-o-o-o-o-

When Dead End rebooted and regathered his senses, he found the minibot still kneeling between his legs, but now diligently wiping off his hand and chuckling smugly. “How... how did you make me overload like that?” he asked after having to restart his vocalizer twice.

The little Autobot just grinned at him. “Are you going to keep insulting me?”

“N-no. That was just amazing. I have no idea what you did in there, but it was amazing.”

Gears smiled at the compliment. “Now spread your legs again and let's get you filled up with transfluid before I change my mind or my hip servos start to rust.”

Dead End lay back down again and spread his thighs obediently. The minibot was right about himself—he did know a thing or two about interfacing. 

Gears went to it dutifully, filling Dead End with three overloads worth of generative fluid, a special version of transfluid produced only by surging mechs. The generative fluid carried a singular strain of nanite designed specifically to create new frames in sparked carriers. Yes, he was sure that some of Breakdown's transfluid was already present in the chamber, but the influence of the other stunticon would be minor on whatever offspring resulted, at least at this point. Chances were a full-sized mech would be forged of the union, but one with Gears' talent and temperament. And when he considered the unholy combination of the three parents' personalities—Breakdown's paranoia, Dead End's fatalism, and his own glass-half-empty personality—he felt sorry for the poor uncreated bitlet. And such a dreadful personality would be the bane of the Autobot ranks, but he could always blame Prowl.

And then Gears smiled. He'd love his miserable little bitlet nevertheless. And then the smiled broadened. He actually wanted this, and it wasn't simply about what the damnable breeding protocols were doing to him and the two Decepticons.

“Dead End, are you ready?” Gears asked, optics warming. “There should be enough transfluid inside you now for a successful result.”

“I've been ready since they threw me into this cell with you,” Dead End said, trying to sound enticing.

Gears snorted. “Sure. Now where's your spark chamber? Please don't tell me you've got a dorsal mount, or this is going to be annoyingly awkward. It's annoyingly awkward enough already.”

Dead End chuckled. “I've got an asymmetrical lower front mount, you grouch.”

“Fine. Then lean back on the wall and open up already.”

Still chuckling, Dead End shifted on the berth to the requested position as a panel and a sub-panel slid open, revealing the chamber. He raised his arms toward the minibot and pushed out his field, filling it with welcoming and needing and the thought of a better future. Gears climbed onto the Stunticon's legs and unlocked his chestplates, exposing his own sparkchamber to his intended. He tried not to think about the fact that his intended was still a Decepticon and could do some serious if not fatal damage in this moment of exposure. But Dead End seemed at least momentarily guileless, and the sudden opening of the Stunticon's chamber meant that at the moment Dead End was willing to trust him with his own life by making himself the most vulnerable. Breakdown was no threat either, having forced himself into recharge, unable to take what was happening.

Dead End's spark glowed a glorious purple, far deeper than his optics and far prettier than anything Gears had ever imagined a Decepticon soul could be. In awed resonse, Gears' own sparkchamber opened, brilliant yellow light hitting the purple head on.

Now it was Dead End's turn to marvel. “Your spark! It's huge! The light is so strong!.”

“I should have been about Optimus' frame size given this thing,” Gears replied, half in jest and half in seriousness as he looked down at himself.

“You've probably got enough strength to spark up my whole team,” he laughed, stroking Gears' arm gently.

“Easily, but it's all yours.” Gears leaned forward until their plates touched. 

The first tendrils of light stretched out and twisted around each other, and both mechs gasped.

“Primus, that feels good,” Dead End moaned. “I've never spark-merged before,” he confessed.

“Never?”

“Megatron's rules.”

“Figures. But not even secretly?”

“I wish I had now... secretly.”

Gears laughed genuinely. “Let's go all the way then, shall we?” He pushed forth his soul, the yellow nebula of it pulsing and undulating, to where it met Dead End's and the two lights became one swirling, enthusiastic mass of luminosity. The two of them succumbed to the pleasure of a merge, feelings of warmth and closeness and the promise of new life racing through their fields and their processors, animosity and antagonism suddenly swept away by the winds of bliss.

The charge increased quickly. Hands clasped. Frames heated. Plating touched. Dead End whimpered a litany of excited comments. While he might have been the most sexually experienced of the Stunticons after Wildrider, this was something completely new. And as satisfying as it was he kept reaching deeper into Gears' spark for more.

And Gears' spark kept giving, eons of restrained passions pouring out, as much as Dead End could consume. And Dead End began to wonder why the grouchy little minibot had held back so much and shielded himself so deeply with gruffness. And within that boundless love he tasted the joy and comfort of what a real sparkbond might feel like—how it might feel to have a real bondmate, someone so much closer than a gestaltmate. Until now he'd always expected the two to be about the same.

The charge swelled as their link deepened, and both concentrated on the merge, concentrated on the desire for a new life to spring forth from their union. Their frames, almost forgotten now, had done their part. Now it was up to their sparks to join, meld, and divide into something greater than the two parts. And join and meld it did within their focus, the light between them rising, their frames crackling with charge.

Dead End's hands clamped harder around Gears' shoulders, trying to draw him closer, the mech completely unaware though that he was squeezing the smaller bot tightly enough to cause dents. On the receiving end, Gears was unaware himself—his will-power set on the shaping of his spark to first pull strength from Dead End and then break off a piece of Primus' light into Dead End's spark chamber. It had been so easy with Taillight. But now... now it took some work.

“Gears! Gears it feels so good!” Dead End moaned ecstatically.

“Dead End! Don't let go. Focus on my spark. Focus on pulling it into your chamber.”

“Yes... yes of course... Tell me what to do!” he panted. “But it still feels amazing.”

The violet spark began to tug on the yellow one, drawing it toward the chamber. But only a long, heavy tendril came with it, a tendril shaped by Gears' compromised will.

“It's too much,” Dead End suddenly bleated as that tendril reached the hollow. “I'm going to overload.”

“Hold it, Dead End. Keep pulling it in,” Gears said firmly, steady despite the strain and his own desire to overload.

“Gears... I can't.”

“You almost do. I can feel it.” He could feel it, the extended tendril, that which would become their synthesis, passing into the hollow of his mate's sparkchamber. “Just keep pulling. Pull your own inside,” he instructed.

“I'm going to overload...”

“Not yet. Hold on just a little longer,” Gears encouraged. If Dead End had been experienced, this would be so much easier. Of course most first-timers failed, but at least the surging wouldn't subside yet and there would be other opportunities.

Through sheer will-power, Gears began to spiral the sparking and writhing tendril and then to pinch off the swollen bit of his soul that had merged completely with the violet light of the Decepticon's.

“Gears!” Dead End screamed. And in what seemed a nano-second, the tip of the tendril broke off just as overload hit him. Dead End howled and writhed from the intensity just before passing out against the wall.

Gears' spark drew back into its own chamber, its sacred mission fulfilled. The five chamber gates closed gracefully behind it, and Gears immediately felt the ease in pressure as the body of energy calmed and resettled itself.

They'd been successful. Even without a medical scan he knew.

-o-o-o-o-o-

“Some Lucky Decepticon” continues in Chapter 9: “The Reckoning” and concludes in Chapter 10: “Aftermath.”

-o-o-o-o-o-


	9. The Reckoning

As Breakdown hunched under a blanket, awake again and sobbing none too quietly, Gears cuddled against Dead End. After they'd finished, they'd lain there, the larger Decepticon spooning around the smaller Autobot, the two whispering softly to each other in their blissful exhaustion. “I'm going to stay with you, Gears. We'll send Breakdown back to the Nemesis, but I'll stay here and we can raise our sparkling together,” the Stunticon was sighing contentedly, informed by his systems that the mating and merging had been successful. The newspark created had descended into the gestation chamber and was already framing itself with the help of the nanites.

“I'd like that,” said Gears, placing a gentle kiss on Dead End's arm, which he was using for a pillow. “I had a bondmate once, and I miss that. It will be nice to have someone again.”

“We don't even have to raise our child here. We can go elsewhere on this planet, away from the others. We could even head for some other planet, far away from this war. Live in exile. Just us bondmates.”

“Dead End, I can't. I'm still an Autobot. Besides, I don't want to leave the others.”

“And I'm a Decepticon. So what?”

“He's a Decepticon,” Breakdown confirmed with a wail.

“And a beautiful one you are too,” he said, rolling over to face him and stroking his larger mate's chin. “A shame that mask hides your good looks. I can understand why you wear it though.”

“Gears, let's run away and give up our factions. For the sake of the sparkling.”

“You might be beautiful but you don't listen to me,” huffed Gears even though he continued to smile.

“Fine. We can stay with your Autobots,” the Stunticon conceded. “At least you have some decent medics on your team should anything happen to us or should our sparkling need it.”

“Dead End, you can't stay with them! What about the gestalt?” cried Breakdown.

Dead End sighed. “They'll miss me back on the Nemesis. Especially my brothers.”

“We'll send you back, Breakdown,” Gears assured him. “Prisoner exchanges happen all the time. They should be happy with that.”

“But the Stunticons will still be missing a team member.”

Dead End wasn't swayed. “They can find someone else to plug into Menasor.”

“And the longer it takes them to do so, all the better for the Autobots.” Gears rolled over and brought his lip components against Dead End's.

“They can't just find someone to take over for you,” whined Breakdown, the mech rising and coming over to the side of the berth. “You're not that easily replaceable. When Motormaster finds out, he's going to come looking for you. You can't stay here whether you want to or not.” He reached out to his teammate, touching the mech's back strut. “And... and I'll miss you too.”

Suddenly in a burst of emotion he sobbed and threw himself against Dead End. “You can't leave me!” he bawled. “You're the only one who really cares about me. The only one who's even kind to me.”

Gears sat up with a jolt, amazed at the crying Stunticon that had just jumped into the berth with them.

Breakdown wrapped his arms around Dead End and whimpered into his back. “You can't send me home alone. You have to come with me. I'll help you through your carrying time. And I'll help you look after the bitlet after he's emerged. I'll protect him from the others. I'll be better than any sire would ever be. Just don't make me go back to our gestalt without you.”

“Breakdown!” Dead End grouched. “Stop it! You're acting like some lovesick idiot.”

“I can't help what I feel! Please Dead End, come back with me!”

“I'm not going to. I'm going to stay here with Gears. The Autobots will make sure I have enough energon and minerals for carrying. At least I think they will.”

“They won't,” Breakdown objected.

“They will,” Gears countered, still annoyed that the other Stunticon had interrupted his cuddle and was now trying to take his mate away.

“Then let me stay here with you. I don't want to leave you, Dead End.”

“You can't stay. At least I don't think you can.” He looked at the minibot. “Gears? Could he stay too?”

“I don't know. They'll be okay with you staying, since you're carrying for me. But him... They'll certainly want to use him in a prisoner exchange.”

“What if I were carrying as well!? What if you sparked me up too?” Breakdown blurted in desperation.

The other two looked at him with mouths agape.

“You can't mean that, Breakdown!” Dead End exclaimed. “You were terrified of him sparking you. You were.”

Breakdown's eyes ran with optic fluid, tears of fear and love and worry spilling down his red faceplate. “I'm more afraid of losing you.”

“Oh for Primus' sake,” grouched Gears. “Damn sappy 'Cons.” He got up off of the berth, trampling the two Decepticons as he went. And then he stomped over to the washrack, turned it up to its hottest setting, and began to shower.

“Please, ask him to spark me too,” Breakdown pleaded quietly, still gripping his gestaltmate. “And then we can stay together.”

“This is because I took your seals, isn't it,” said Dead End, shuffling into a new position on the berth.

Breakdown looked away ashamedly. “Maybe.”

Dead End sighed. “Just go back to the Nemesis. Tell Motormaster what happened. You'll get over it.”

“But I don't want to go... not without you. Besides, he'll pound me to scrap if I go back alone.”

“He won't if he thinks the Autobots were completely responsible. Just make sure he thinks that.”

Breakdown just stared into Dead End's purple optics. “Please? Please ask him to spark me? He's your bondmate now and will listen.”

Dead End stared back, assaulted by the relentless feelings of need and helplessness coming through the gestalt-bond. And after a klik he offlined his optics and sagged to the berth. “Fine. I'll ask.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

“Some Lucky Decepticon” concludes in Chapter 10: “Aftermath.” Be sure to bring your hankie for it... it gets rather sad when Gears reveals something of his past.

-o-o-o-o-o-


	10. Aftermath

It had been a rough few days for Gears and his two mates.

After Hoist had confirmed pregnancy in both of the Stunticons—Gears' surging spark having all too easily proved strong enough to kindle new lives in both of them—the three endured a lot of shuffling, a lot of examining, a lot of questioning, and a lot of lecturing, as well as a lot of teasing. Worse yet was the humiliating call to Megatron in which the Decepticon leader threatened, belittled, insulted, and finally excommunicated the two Stunticons in the most painful ways he could muster at the moment. The terrified Breakdown shook so hard that half of his restraining bolts vibrated loose before he fainted. Dead End tried to be strong but ended up begging both factions to kill him well before the call ended. And just as it seemed Megatron was wrapping up his tyrannical dressing down, an angry Motormaster was brought into the conversation, who quickly became so enraged he began trashing the communications console in front of him as well as the hapless Reflector unit that had foolishly tried to stop him.

As soon as the call ended, Breakdown was rushed back to the medbay where Hoist and Ratchet examined him again to see if the newspark he carried had survived the episode. To everyone's surprise it had and even measured stronger than before. An excited Gears placed his hands upon his second mate's abdomen and declared loudly: “Tungsten! This one will be named Tungsten!”

But now at last they'd been left in peace in their new accommodations—a room that had first been a storage bay, then quarters for Skyfire, and now a place for Gears' family-to-be. Dead End and Breakdown had immediately retreated to the berth to relax, venting deeply and huddling together in the respite from the bustle and trauma of the day. Their plating still stung where some unknown but enthusiastic Autobot had sanded off their Decepticon insignia.

Gears stood in the room's center, looking across at his two exhausted mates, feeling far more sorry for them than for himself for once. While the rest of his faction considered them a couple of fatalistic, paranoid freaks, he saw them now as two lost and needy Cybertronians—two lost and needy Cybertronians that were carrying his children. He'd stood beside them through the roughness, watchful that the other Autobots were polite and treated them with some modicum of respect. He'd held onto their frames through Megatron's and Motormaster's punishing rants. In fact he'd tried to still Breakdown when he'd begun to vibrate but had been shaken right off.

And for once now Gears was actually quiet and had nothing to say or even anything to complain about. Instead he went and sat in his favorite chair to think.

After a while the two Decepticons decided they should look about their new home. They'd been uncuffed but the restraining bolts remained. Ratchet had informed them that their weapons and transformation cogs would be returned to them once the sparklings were independent, and that they would be allowed to return to their own faction if they desired. At least that was the theory, that the Stunticons would be sent home eventually, leaving their children behind with their sire. In compensation energon and medical equipment was to be given to them. Again, that was the theory. Everyone assumed the two Stunticons, being Decepticons, would happily walk away from their offspring without a fuss or a care. It had been part of the call to Megatron, though Megatron had sworn to Primus, Unicron, and Santa Claus that he'd not allow them to return.

Gears watched his two mates open drawers and look through the cupboards and study their accommodations. He fought the urge to smile when he thought about the newsparks inside of them, the tiny new lives beginning to assemble protoframes around themselves. He'd actually done it—actually fathered new mechs. Something he'd sworn to himself never to do, at least while the war was still on. And yet somehow it felt right, even though the new lives had been created within members of the opposite faction. It was all so wrong and so right at the same time. 

A knock came on the door, which immediately slid open. Brawn came in with a crate of belongings in his hands. The two Stunticons stared without saying anything. Neither was keen on his presence and the news that Brawn would be living with them had not been received with any pleasure. But Brawn had opted to return to his roommate, even volunteering to help look after the sparklings. 

Gears was happy to have his one friend back, and the two of them took the crate and went into one of the two sub-rooms of the suite, the one that would become the warrior's personal bedroom. The other sub-room had been designated a nursery. Gears, Dead End, and Breakdown would sleep in the main room, Skyfire having left his large berth for the three to share. Apparently the scientist had all but officially moved in with the Aerialbot leader prior to this shuffle and did all his recharging in Silverbolt's bed. The need for a place for Gears' family had just made his move official.

-o-o-o-o-o-

The news went out the next morning, the twins gleefully posting their message and both Ratchet and Hoist confirming that it wasn't some cruel joke but actually an amazing coincidence.

Both Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were surging, and “given recent occurrences” they would be all too happy to spark-up any carrier wishing to conceive. No courting or flirting or even the traditional gifts and favors would be required, though gifts and favors would be nice. A would-be carrier simply had to make a date with either or both of the pair. However they made it quite clear that their generosity extended only to the siring of newsparks, and they would not be available for fatherly duties.

Bluestreak was first in line, and he immediately booked both twins for a long breeding session, which they very willingly agreed to. Other carriers, even some who'd not even considered carrying before, suddenly were signing up for the available time slots. Within two days, Hoist confirmed four newsparks. Within a week, eleven were in the works, if one included those of Blitzwing and Bonecrusher. The “rescue attempt” to reclaim the two captive Stunticons seemed to have gone suspiciously awry. In fact the rescue party hadn't gotten anywhere close to the Stunticons. In retrospect, the fact that two of the four Decepticon carriers on the rescue team had been captured in the twins' quarters, and that the other two were found simply waiting in the volcanic neck of Mt. Saint Hilary, raised a few questions regarding base security and loyalty issues. Megatron had insisted twice in his tirade that no rescue party would be sent.

But one willing carrier, on seeing the message, had not immediately pinged the frontliners to start negotiating a time he could meet with them.

Brawn looked over at Gears, snuggled with his two mates on the couch watching morning television. ::Did you just get that message?::

::Which message?:: And a moment later. ::Oh.:: Gears turned to look over at Brawn where the warrior was working at the table, studiously cleaning his pistol, Brawn already looking back at him. ::I suppose you'll be visiting them. Might as well.:: 

::Depends.::

::Depends on what?::

::If there's any surplus energy left in your spark.::

::My spark? I thought you weren't going to.::

::I like the twins well enough, but I'd rather have you. Though that's a moot point if your surge cycle has completed itself.::

::What about the pact?::

::I think it ended with your sparking of the two Stunticons.::

::I see.::

::Well?::

Gears paused for a moment. ::The ache is gone, but it seems to still be running strong and hot.::

::I really do want to carry. Want to give me a reason not to visit the twins?::

Gears looked over at the other minibot. ::There is easily space in the nursery for another sparkling. And I think I'm still viable. I mean my spark's still swollen but nothing like it was before.::

::Want to find out?::

::If.... if you'd be willing to test the validity of the pact.::

Brawn put his work away. ::The pact be damned. Let's give it a go.:: He went into his private room.

Gears looked up at his two mates, the pair completely absorbed in the talk show they were watching. Apparently Megatron had forbidden his underlings from watching Earth entertainment though most everyone did on the sly. Now, under what would amount to a long term house arrest, they were all too happy to sit back and watch what Earth's media had to offer and not worry about being caught. “I'll be back in a bit,” he told the two.

“All right,” said Breakdown, leaning down to give him a kiss on the top of his helm. His nerves had calmed immensely since being relocated to the habitation suite. Since waking that morning he'd actually seemed content if not even happy. And now the paranoia seemed to have been replaced by affection for the sire of the newspark inside him. The permanent scowl on his faceplate had miraculously transmogrified into a soft smile.

“Be back before bedtime,” said Dead End, grinning suggestively and rubbing the minibot's thigh.

“What? You trying for a second bitlet? Can you even carry two?” Gears had been surprised to find that the dark red Stunticon had become quite attached to him even after the automatic breeding protocols had shut down.

“I just might, and Hoist said I would be able to,” Dead End flirted. His mask had been removed once again and stored in a drawer, which pleased Gears. He liked Dead End's looks, but now also the other Autobots would see how attractive his first mate was, what with his well cared-for plating and handsome faceplate. Breakdown wasn't bad to look at either now that he was smiling. And in some Cybertronian cities a red faceplate had been considered the height of beauty..

On entering Brawn's room, Gears found himself caught up in the strong arms of his fellow minibot and a forehead pressed to his. “I do hope there's some of your spark left for me,” Brawn said.

“Really? You really mean it?”

“You know that I was hoping you'd spark me when you first began surging.”

“And I was a jerk and wouldn't.”

“Yeah, but I forgive you.”

“I... I didn't want to because... well, nothing.”

“What do you mean 'nothing'? Because why?” he asked, leading Gears toward the berth.

“Because...” Gears sighed. “I never told you this... but I had a bondmate once.”

“Oh?” Brawn was intrigued.

“Long ago, of course. A femme. A minibot femme.” He sat on Brawn's berth and folded his hands together.

“Really?! They're so rare.”

“Yes. Somehow I'd found one and somehow we fell in love.” He sighed deeply. “She was so good to me. So patient. So understanding. She put up with my personality, which I know is no easy task.” Gears lay back on the berth, wringing his dark grey hands together over his chest. “I loved her so much. And over the two and a half octads we were together, we had nine sparklings.”

“Nine!?” Brawn choked. “You had nine sparklings with her?! That's really something.”

“I've always been a frequent surger, and my spark is larger than average, even for a regular-sized mech. She conceived each time I surged. And... I sired seven other sparklings for friends as well.”

Brawn looked flabbergasted. “I had no idea you were so... fertile, if that's the right word for it.”

Gears sighed again. “Taillight gave me nine sparklings, but on the tenth time, something went wrong. One morning... I woke up, and... and she was dead.” Tears filled his optics

“Gears!” Brawn climbed onto the berth beside him and took his hand.

“I lost both her and the sparkling. Just like that. The medic explained it to me, but I didn't understand. And then I lost the rest of our children to the war. Three had died already in the conflict by that point. Then the other six followed. Some in battle. Some were just caught in the crossfire. Of the other seven, I know at least two of them have been killed in the conflict. The rest...” Gears' quavering voice trailed off, and suddenly he broke down into tears. “I vowed... I vowed I'd never bring another newspark into such a horrible world. I'd given life to sixteen children, and of all sixteen I don't know if any are still alive.”

“Oh Gears...” Brawn put his arm around the minibot.

“It hurt so much.” He took a deep breath. “The last two times I surged, I made it through. And then this time... being stuck here on Earth. Being stuck here with the others. I couldn't control it. And then Prowl locked me in with Dead End and Breakdown. It was... it was humiliating and I fought it but I couldn't help myself this time. Something about being away from Cybertron.”

Brawn pulled him close. “I'm so sorry. I never realized... You never told me... No wonder you turned us all down.”

“No one here knows. I wasn't with this unit at that time.”

“You could have told me.”

Gears sighed. “I could have.”

“Look, if you don't want to, you don't have to try to spark me. I understand now.”

Gears looked up at Brawn. “I've sparked those two Decepticons out there. It's not like they were my first choice. I just couldn't help myself and they couldn't stop themselves either.”

“And you don't have to try with me either. I'm sorry if I've been kinda pushy.”

Gears looked Brawn in the optics. “You've been my best friend here. Heck, I'd much rather spark you over them. I'd much rather spark you over that pretty Praxian.”

“You mean it?”

Gears took Brawn's hand. “If you want to carry, I'll help.” He brought Brawn's hand to his lips and kissed it. “Besides, I'd hate to leave you at the mercy of the twins.”

Brawn chuckled. “Jealous?”

“Of course I'm not jealous! I've heard they just don't really like minibots. They tease me all the time. And besides, Sideswipe seems to have a thing for scratching my paint whenever he passes me in the halls or on the road. And did I tell you about that one time I got stuck on a shuttle next to Sunstreaker and he...”

Brawn brought the rant to an abrupt halt with a hard kiss shoved against Gears' lips. “Spark me, Gears, and I won't have a reason to go to them.”

Gears smiled so broadly it seemed as if his faceplate would crack with the effort.

-o-o-o-o-o-  
-o-o-o-  
-o-

The End

-o-  
-o-o-o-  
-o-o-o-o-o-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Skyfire/Silverbolt – I think these two make a sweet couple and there have been a number of fics pairing them (none of mine though). They're both big, white, and gentle. I can just see the shuttle taking a liking to the Aerialbot leader and that liking becoming something more rather quickly.
> 
> Primus, Unicron, and Santa Claus – See Chapter 1.
> 
> Gears' Backstory – My thought was to give Gears some reason as to why he didn't want to spark anyone other than the “he's a grouch” option. And maybe this was a bit maudlin and a bit unexpected, but it seemed to work. The fact that he's outlived all his children is a painful one—in the natural order of things we aren't supposed to outlive our children. But now he's going to try again, even if it was not his original intent, and that has given him some hope. If he proves successful with Brawn, that will change things even further.


End file.
